A Study in Pink
by iampotterlocked
Summary: Hida Watson, a retired military orthopedic surgeon is back in London. There, she meets Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and shares a flat with him. Life as she knows it changes forever. The war never ends, but can she keep it a secret?
1. Chapter 1

I limped down the street in the park, bundled up in my jacket. My hand was gloved and wrapped tightly around my cane. I was freezing. But still, I loved it. Something about the freshness in the air, how everything felt clean again. "Watson?" a voice behind me questioned. I turned around. It was a man. I studied him; clearly I had seen him before. That nagging sense of familiarity was overpowering.

"Hida Watson? I'm Sam Summers, remember me? We went to Stanford together. Medical school?" He looked at me expectantly. "I know I've gotten bigger," he said.

"Oh yes, what are you doing now?" we went to medical school together. "Did you become a…. pediatrician?" I asked. I remember that he also tried to date me on multiple occasions. I eyed his hand. A wedding ring was on it. Good.

"Oh no, I work for the police now. Examining crimes and whatnot." He said. "Say, I'm on lunch right now. Care to join me?" he asked. "It will be my treat," he added.

We ended up at a charming little soup and sandwich shop. Sam spoke of his wife and kids. Then he turned the subject to me. "I heard you joined the army," he said.

"Yes, I worked as an all-around doctor and an orthopedic surgeon." I said.

"I also heard you got shot." He added. "What happened?"

"Well, there was an enemy soldier, with a gun, and he pulled the trigger of the gun, and the bullet was embedded into my body." I said.

He was silent. "So have you gotten yourself sorted?" he asked.

"I can't afford London on an army pension."

"You could probably get a flat mate," he added.

I looked at him over my glasses. "Who in their right mind would want to share a flat with me?" I asked.

He chuckled.

"What?" I asked.

"You're just the second person to tell me that, today." He said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Who was the first?"

We had finished up lunch, and Sam walked me back to his work. We entered in to a tall building through a revolving glass door. I kept my hand on the outer circle; I had slammed into too many panes of glass. Sam changed into a white coat, and scanned a card to enter a door. It seemed to be a lab of some sort.

"Nice," I said appreciatively.

"This isn't the best of it yet." Sam promised.

We walked through a few more hallways and on the way Sam stopped a woman in a hall. "Where is he?" he asked her.

"Lab three," she answered.

Sam nodded and led me down a maze of hallways. He chattered on about how many times he got lost when he started working here. Finally, we reached it. It was a plain wooden door with "LAB 3" on it. He opened the door and ushered me through. It was beautiful. It was a large room split into two, with multiple computers on one side and a table filled to bursting with all types of scientific… stuff. There were microscopes that looked like they cost a million pounds. There were papers scattered everywhere.

"This isn't quite what I'm used to," I said as I made my way in. there was a man there, scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

"Sam, I need to borrow your phone, my battery died." he said as he turned around to look at us. He was whip thin, almost like he hadn't eaten in days, but gave an aura of energy.

"Is landline so horrible?" Sam asked the man.

"Texting is simpler." The man stated.

Sam felt in his pockets. "Sorry I must have left mine at my desk," he said apologetically.

"Here, use mine," I said. I limped over to him and handed him my phone. He looked at me for the first time, I could tell his eyes were blue/green.

"Thank you," he said.

Sam patted me on the shoulder. "She's an old friend of mine, Hida Watson." He told the man. I really didn't think I was that old, I was only twenty nine, but I kept quiet.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man asked.

I was studying the lab table, and didn't hear the question. They were both looking at me expectantly, so I asked, "excuse me?"

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man repeated.

He must have known I was shot. "Iraq," I said shortly.

At that moment a woman hurried into the room with her eyes to the floor.

"Ah, coffee, thanks Molly," the man said.

She gave a small smile as she set it down.

"What happened to the lipstick?" he asked her.

She fumbled for her words. "It wasn't working for me, I took it off."

The man went back to scribbling down things on a piece of paper. "Pity, it was such an improvement, your mouth is too small now." He said idly.

I was floored. This was the man Sam was thinking of setting me up with? How dare he impose his own concept of beauty on others?

"Alright," she said meekly and hurried out. She reminded me of- no, I was not going down that road. I fought my way to the present.

"What do you think of the violin?" the man asked suddenly.

I stayed silent. He did not ask me directly, so he might have been talking to Sam.

He turned and stared at me. "What do you think of the violin?" he repeated.

"The instrument or how the person behind it plays?" I asked.

"I play violin when I think. I don't talk for days sometimes." He said. "Would you have a problem?"

"No," I said. "As long as it is played well,"

"Alright then. I just thought potential flat mates should know about each other." He poured some liquid into a beaker.

"Did you tell him?" I asked Sam. He shook his head.

"I told myself. Yesterday I told Sam here that I would be a nightmare flat mate, and here he is, with a friend back from military service who needs to get back on her feet, so to speak." The man said. It occurred to me that I didn't even know his name.

"It's a place in central London, splitting the rent would make it easy for both of us," he continued. "Tomorrow evening, six o clock. Sorry I've got to go, I've left my riding crop in the mortuary." he packed up his papers and tugged on his coat.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"What?" he looked at me as if he was skewering me.

"We've just met, we don't know a thing about each other, I don't even know your name, and where are we even meeting?" I questioned.

He gave a twitch of his lips. "I know you're an army doctor, and you were a dancer, probably ballet, but you never went into a career, probably because it would interfere with military service. Your limp is very bad, but you didn't ask for a chair, so it's probably a psychosomatic limp. Your sister has some money, and is worried about you, but you won't go to her. Possibly it has to do with the fact that her husband drinks. Most likely, it is the fact that he walked out on your sister. Is that enough for you?" he asked as he made his way out again.

"No, it isn't. I don't know your name, I don't know where you even live!" I burst out.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker Street. See you," he said as he walked out.

I turned to Sam, planning on telling him off. He nodded. "He is always like that, yes."

I spent the rest of the day walking around London. I visited a bookshop. There I was helped by a lovely girl, who sold me two books. One was City of Bones, the next, the second in the series, City of Ashes. I took a cab back to my apartment. I wasn't really in the mood for food, so I unloaded my books onto my desk and sat down. I had a picture of myself from when I was sixteen, and playing the lead in Swan Lake. I stared at it. I changed into my pajamas and went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**In this chapter I use the word Crimestop. This word comes from 1984 by George Orwell. In a society where the thoughts are policed, when a person knows they are on the verge of thinking a 'bad thought' so to speak, they cut off the thought and think about something else. I do not own Sherlock, or 1984. Thank you.**

The next day I wandered around London some more. There was an advertisement for a new dance studio opening up. I toyed with the idea of teaching, or just playing piano while the people danced. I then went to the park again and started reading the book I got, City of Bones. It was truly amazing. I read half of the book before lunch. After that I went back to my apartment and started packing. It didn't take long. All of my possessions fit into a duffel bag. It was just some clothes, an old pair of pointe shoes, and the picture of a sixteen year old me. After that, I spent some time thinking. I needed to get a job, but what? And then there was the problem of my flat mate. He was… different. Really, he didn't seem a very friendly sort, but I probably wasn't going to be seeing too much of him. I even considered not going, but anywhere, anywhere had to be better than where I was.

At about six forty, I made my way out of my room. My gun was in the inside pocket of my coat. I don't know why I kept it; it just made me feel better. I made my way onto the street and hailed a cab. "Baker Street," I said as I climbed into the cab. The ride took about fifteen minutes. I paid, got out of the cab and looked up and down the street. Finally, I found it. Right next to a small café that said "Hudson's snacks and services." I looked around. It was certainly an improvement from where I started, that's for sure.

There was a slam of a car door, and Sherlock Holmes exited a cab. He nodded to the café. "Mrs. Hudson is the landlady," he explained. I nodded. He held out his hand, probably expecting me to shake it. I stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took it. His hand was warm, and dry.

"Mr. Holmes," I said.

"Sherlock, please," he said back.

I nodded. He continued talking as he knocked on the door. "I got a reduced rate; Mrs. Hudson owes me a favor. A while back her husband got sentenced to execution in Florida. I helped a bit."

"You stopped the execution?" I asked.

"No, I ensured it." He answered.

"Should have just shipped him to Texas, they're much more lax there. I think it has the highest execution rate in the country," I said.

"Are you American? Your accent gives you away," he asked.

"Lived there until I was 14, and just never picked up an English one, I guess." I said.

The door opened, and a small lady stood there, grinning. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed, and hugged him tightly. I could tell that they were friends. They broke apart, and the lady, Mrs. Hudson beckoned us inside. I went in.

There was a coat rack on the right, but Sherlock ignored it. He bounded up the stairs and waited for me as I limped up them. He held the door open for me and I made my way into the room. It was connected to a kitchen, and there were two very nice windows that gave a beautiful view of the street. But the room was filled with… stuff. Paper was strewn about, and there was- no- a skull on the mantelpiece. But there were some comfy looking chairs, and a sofa, so it wasn't all that bad.

"This could be nice," I said absentmindedly as I made my way into the room. Sherlock seemed pleased. I walked into the kitchen, and was slightly disappointed. Even there, there were beakers and vials and jars of all sorts of things competing for room on the counter. It didn't seem that Sherlock was done packing, by the look of a few boxes in the corner of the room.

"Yes, that was my thought too." Sherlock said with a hint of pride.

"As soon as some things are cleaned out," I said at the same time Sherlock said, "I just need to finish moving in."

We stared at each other for a short time. I was almost ready to pull the eyes over the glasses look, when Sherlock said, "obviously I can straighten things up a bit." He moved some papers off a chair and piled them onto an already perilous looking stack on a desk. He took a stack of letters out of his pocket and stuck them to the mantle with a pocketknife.

"Is that a skull?" I said, nodding at the skull on the mantle.

"Friend of mine," he said.

"What do you think Dr. Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll need it," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Of course I'll need it, why wouldn't I?" I asked.

She gave the smallest roll of her eyes, "just saying," she said evasively, and with that she bustled over to the kitchen. "The mess you've made, Sherlock," she complained.

"I see," I replied. "I looked you up on the internet yesterday," I started.

"Oh yes?" he said, trying, in vain by the looks of it, to straighten things up. "Find anything interesting?" he asked.

"The science of deduction?" I stated.

"What did you think?" he said.

"It was… interesting," I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Do I detect sarcasm? Oh who am I kidding, of course I do." He said.

"You said that you can identify a retired plumber by his left hand and a graphic designer by his tie," I stated.

"And I could read your dancing in your hair, your military service in your leg, and your sister's marital problems in your phone."

"How," I replied.

He didn't answer. In the background I could hear Mrs. Hudson complaining about the state of the place. I wondered why she even tried. It was probably just a lost cause in the end. I could tell that this Sherlock Holmes wanted his place like this, and all the kings' horses and all the kings' men couldn't stop him.

"There was an article," he stated after a while.

"Didn't read it. I was tired."

He said nothing to that, too. "Sherlock, look at these suicides. I thought you'd be on them by now." Mrs. Hudson said, holding up a paper from a few days ago.

There was a flash of light in the window, so quickly I thought I imagined it. But the wail of sirens and a few more flashes confirmed my suspicions. It occurred to me that I was trying to engage Sherlock in conversation. What would- no, NO. I would not think about that now. Crimestop, Crimestop, I thought to myself.

"Yes, they're right up my street," Sherlock said moving to the window. I could tell that he worked for the police. It made sense, I saw him with Sam in the police lab, and he was looking down at the police cars, muttering about a fifth.

A man in a long coat stalked- there was really no other word- into the room.

"Where now?" Sherlock said.

"Brigston, please come." the man replied.

"Who's on forensics," Sherlock asked.

"Anderson."

"I won't work with Anderson." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"He won't be your assistant." The man said. I could tell by the look in his eyes he was desperate.

"I need an assistant!" Sherlock said.

"Will you come?" the man asked again.

"I'll follow in a cab," said Sherlock.

The man looked relived. "Thank you," he said.

After the man left, Sherlock pumped his fist in the air, saying, "yes! Thought it was going to be a dull evening, brilliant! An imaginative serial killer can't be beat! Mrs. Hudson, I may be out late."

"I'm not your housekeeper, I'm your landlady," Mrs. Hudson replied crossly.

"Hida, make yourself at home, don't wait up," Sherlock said, packing small items into the pockets of his coat.

"Why the hell would I wait up?" I questioned myself.

He ran out of the room. "Look at him, dashing about. Mr. Hudson was just the same," Mrs. Hudson said affectionately. She looked at me. "I'll make you a cuppa, just this once, you rest your leg," she said.

Hot anger rose up. "FUCK MY LEG!" I shouted.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson squeaked.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"No, dearie, I understand. I've got a bad hip, you know." She bustled off again.

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. After a pause, I closed my eyes. I always felt as if I could reach out like this. I just focused on my breath, in and out. There was a clink of a cup- Mrs. Hudson- and the quiet rushing of water. I could tell that another person was in the room, not Mrs. Hudson. They had just walked in, and were standing in the doorway.

"You're a doctor," I heard.

"No, I just went to medical school for fun," I replied.

"You're an army doctor," Sherlock pointed out.

"You've said that already," I said back.

"Where you any good?" he asked.

"No, the army only hires idiots," I said.

"You've seen injuries, violent deaths," Sherlock went on.

I shook my head. "Oh no, there are no deaths or injuries in war, Mr. Holmes."

"Want to see some more?" he asked.

I paused. "Lead the way."


	3. Chapter 3

**At this moment I would like some feedback. I would like to know if people want more of this series, and want me to keep writing. please review. thank you. **

"I'll skip the cup, Mrs. Hudson" I called as I hurried out of the flat.

"Both of you now?" Mrs. Hudson looked shocked.

"It's no use sitting around at home where there are things to be done, murders to be solved," Sherlock said.

"Don't look so happy, Sherlock, it's not decent!" Mrs. Hudson was scandalized.

"Who cares about decent?" Sherlock cried, elated. I could tell that this is what he lived for. It gave him a rush like no other. It was slightly troubling, but then again, I really wasn't one to judge. I twitched my lips in what I hoped was a good imitation of a smile to Mrs. Hudson and followed Sherlock out.

Sherlock hailed a cab and we got in. He gave an address, but I really didn't listen, I was too busy wondering just what in the holy hell I was doing. After about five minutes of silence he stopped tapping things onto his phone and looked at me.

"You've got questions," he said.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Crime scene, next." He was looking at me with a look of slight distain.

"What do you even do?" I burst out.

"What do you think?"

I considered. "Probably a private detective, but the police don't go to private detectives."

He smiled at that. "I am a consulting detective. I created the job; I'm the only one in the world."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"When the police don't know what to do, which, face it, is most of the time, they consult me." He was very proud, I could tell.

I took an intake of breath, and then closed my mouth.

"When I met you yesterday, you seemed surprised when I asked Afghanistan or Iraq." He stated.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"I saw. You have tan hands and a tan face, but very little above the wrists, which mean that you were working in a sunny environment. The way you hold yourself says 'military.' Then it was your conversation. You were trained abroad, so, military doctor. Then your leg. As I said, you forget about your limp when you stand, so it means psychosomatic. Therefore, the circumstances of receiving the injury were traumatizing. Wounded in action, then. Where does a military doctor get a traumatizing injury abroad? Afghanistan or Iraq."

I was surprised. But he kept talking.

"Then there's your sister."

"What about my sister?" I asked.

"Your phone is very expensive, email, mp3, you're looking for a flat share, and you couldn't afford this. So, that means it's a gift. There are scratches all over; it shared a pocket with keys. A woman wouldn't treat her one luxury item like that, so it had a previous owner. Next bit is easy,"

"The engraving," I said. I flipped my phone over. Haru Watson, from Alex xxx.

"Haru Watson," Sherlock said.

"No," I said.

"What?"

"You said it wrong. Its Haru and the R is pronounced like an L."

"Yes. Anyway, Haru is a family member, obviously. Not your mother, this is a young person's gadget. Could even be a cousin, but you need a flat share. No extended family or not one you're close to. Sister it is. Now Alex, who's Alex? Xxx, romantic attachment. The phone is expensive, so, husband, not a boyfriend. It was a recent gift, this models six months at most. Mmmm marriage in trouble. Six months and she's already giving her sister her phone? If he left her, she would have probably kept it. But no she left him. She wants to be rid of him. So, the phone was just one more piece, and she gave it to you. Wants to keep in touch, probably.

"Now you have a sister that is worried about you, but you won't go to her. Problems, right there. Maybe you liked her husband. Maybe you don't like the drinking."

I stared at him. I knew from years of practice that my face was neutral. I did not look surprised, I did not look angry. I just looked at him. After a while he started talking again.

"I guessed. But not a bad one. There were tiny scuff marks around the power connection. Shaky hands. You never see a sober person's phone with them, never see a drunk without." He seemed finished.

"You knew about my dancing." I stated.

"Oh yes, your hair. Yesterday and today. Very plain, pulled back into a tight bun. Obviously your looks aren't that important, so why not get it cut off? You need to look uniform with all the other women. Also it was the way you're built. You're tall, and you have long arms and legs. So, ideal physique for a dancer. You joined the military, so you didn't want a career in dancing, or just couldn't get one."

"That was amazing." I said.

"You think so?" Sherlock asked.

"How couldn't it be?" I started chuckling. "Brilliant."

"Not the usual reaction..." he trailed off.

"What is the usual reaction?" I wondered.

"Fuck off." He said with a wry smile.

The cab stopped and we got out. As we were walking down the sidewalk, he turned to me and asked if he got anything wrong.

"No, not really. Haru rarely drinks, but when it happens, it happens badly. Haru and Alex are separating. And Haru did leave- about five months ago. I was a dancer, ballet, but I needed guaranteed employment so I joined the army."

He seemed pleased. "I didn't think I could be right about everything," he said.

"You weren't." I said. "Haru is my brother, and Alex is short for Alexia."

He looked angry. "A brother," he muttered.

"Don't feel bad, Haru is a unisex name." I said. "Now just what am I even doing here?"

We approached a police tape. There was a woman behind it who looked like she just saw something unpleasant. "Hello, freak," she greeted Sherlock.

"I need to see Lestrade," Sherlock said.

"Why?" she asked him. I thought she was rather rude, and didn't like her much.

"I was invited," Sherlock said.

"Why?" the woman said again. This time she drew it out.

"I think he wants me here," Sherlock said with feigned confusion.

The woman grudgingly lifted up the tape. "You know what I think, freak."

"Oh yes, Sally. Even though you didn't make it home last night?" he asked her.

She turned to me. "Who is this?"

"A colleague. Dr. Hida Watson. Dr. Watson, Sally Donovan, old friend." Sherlock answered.

Sally Donovan looked livid. "A colleague?" she exclaimed.

"Surely you know what they are?" Sherlock asked.

"Did he follow you home, doctor?" Sally asked.

"Should I just leave?" I asked.

"No, you're coming." Sherlock shouldered Sally out of the way and lifted up the tape.

"Freak's here and he brought a friend," Sally said in a walkie talkie. Ice flooded my veins for a minute. I did not have friends. I was simply helping my flat mate. Bone crushing fear. I just needed to get through today. That was all.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own anything.**

I ducked under the tape and followed Sherlock to an old apartment building. There were many flashing lights, and I saw more than a few people shoot dirty looks at Sherlock. A man stalked- there was really no other way to put it- out of the house and got very close to Sherlock. I idly wondered if the man was going to punch him.

"Anderson," Sherlock said, almost amiably.

"I do not want this crime scene contaminated, is that clear?" the man almost snarled.

"Quite clear," Sherlock said with a smile.

"You're little magic tricks work on Lestrade, but not on me," Anderson said.

"Is your wife away for too long?" Sherlock asked innocently.

I almost felt pity for Anderson, which was hard, as pity was an emotion I tried not to feel. I knew what it felt like. I just was grateful that Sherlock was not as good as he most likely thought he was.

"Oh somebody told you," Anderson said.

"Yes, your deodorant." Sherlock answered.

"What?" Anderson sputtered.

"It is for men," Sherlock said.

"Of course it is."

"Donovan here is wearing the exact same thing." Sherlock nodded to her. He gave a delicate sniff. "And it just vaporized, can I go in?" he said as he walked forward.

"Whatever you're implying," threatened Anderson.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm sure sally just stopped by for a cup of tea and spent the night. And looking at her knees, she probably scrubbed your floors." He gave a smirk.

I followed Sherlock in. I did not make eye contact with sally or Anderson. I knew how it felt, being harassed in front of a crowd. I made my way into a dingy building. There was hustle and bustle everywhere, and groups of people in blue suits.

"Wear one of these," Sherlock gestured to a stack of blue body suits.

"Who's this?" a man asked.

"She is with me," Sherlock said.

"But-"

"She. Is. With. Me, Lestrade." Sherlock said each word like it was a sentence. And that was the end of that.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked as he hurried into a blue suit.

"Upstairs," Lestrade said.

Damn stairs. There seemed to be a hundred.

As we went up, Lestrade started speaking. "There was one other person here, a man of about five foot seven, off of footprint analysis. He and the victim arrived here by car. Jennifer Wilson, going off of credit cards. We're running the information now for contacts."

Finally the room was reached. There was a woman, who looked middle aged. She was wearing a suit of bright pink, and matching pumps. She was facedown. Sherlock stared at her for a while. "Shut up," he said.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"You were thinking, it's annoying." Sherlock said.

Lestrade looked at me with a look of helplessness on his face. Sherlock stepped forward. He suddenly bent down and brushed his fingers along her back. He pulled something from her pocket. I couldn't tell what. I was curious, but I could also tell that he was in his element, and disturbing someone in their element is a bad idea.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked after a few minutes.

"She's German. Rache," Anderson said. "Revenge."

"Yes thank you for your oh so valuable input," Sherlock said as he slammed the door in Anderson's face.

"She is German though," Lestrade said.

"Maybe, but she is from out of town, and wanted to stay in London only one night before returning to Cardiff. Obvious." He said with an air of superiority. "Right, Dr. Watson?"

"what." I asked. I saw nothing for the past five minutes, and he comes up with allegations that he expects me to back?

"On the body. You're a doctor." Sherlock nodded.

"We have a medical team right outside," Lestrade protested.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock said. "And you brought me here because you need me." He added.

"Yes, I do." Lestrade said. "God help me."

I wondered what would happen if I told him that the debate of god's existence does not matter. But I held my tongue.

"Dr. Watson." Sherlock said.

"Help yourself." Lestrade said.

I limped forward. There was 'Rache' scratched on the floor. But-

"Rachel." I said.

"Hm?" asked Sherlock.

"It could be Rachel." I said. Then I shook my head. I was not a detective. I was a doctor. "Can you tell me what I'm doing here?" I asked him.

"Helping me prove a point." He said it like it was obvious.

"And how does this help pay rent?" I asked.

"It doesn't. But this is more fun."

"Fun? This woman is dead."

"Good, but I was hoping for more detail." Sherlock said.

Lestrade stepped back into the room. I tucked my leg under me and bent down. I sniffed next to her mouth. No alcohol. I grasped her mouth and pulled her gums back. Perfectly normal. I felt her hand. It felt, well, like a dead person's hand, but it was fine.

"Asphyxiation. Passed out, choked on her vomit. No alcohol, no gas of any sort. Maybe it was a seizure."

"You know what it was. You read the papers." Sherlock accused.

I stared at him.

"She is in her late thirties and is a professional. Media, going off that horrid shade of pink. Came here today intending to spend one night. Got that off the size of her suitcase. Married for at least ten years, but had a string of lovers. None knew she was married. Wedding ring is ten years old, and dirty. All others are clean. Inside of the ring is clean while outside is dirty. Only polishing it got was when she was taking it off for her lovers."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Brilliant." I said quietly. Never in my life had I met anyone this attuned to detail. Well, except for her. They were both looking at me strangely now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Please review if you like it, and feedback is much appreciated!**

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, that's obvious." Sherlock waved his hand.

"Not to me," Lestrade said.

"What is it like inside your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Her coat is wet, under the collar too, but her umbrella is dry. Too windy to use it. From the size of her suitcase she meant to stay a night, so it was a decent distance. Therefore, where was it rainy and windy within two or three hours of London? Cardiff." He held up his phone to Lestrade.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, she must have had a phone or organizer. Something about Rachel." Sherlock paced the room.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked.

"No, she was leaving an angry German note. YES SHE WAS WRITING RACHEL!" Sherlock roared. "But why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How did you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked again.

"Splash on her leg. Not too big, but she was dragging it behind her with her right hand. Small, going by the marks." Sherlock trailed off. "Now where is it?"

"There was none." Lestrade said.

"Say that one more time." Sherlock said.

"There was no suitcase," Lestrade enunciated his words.

"SUITCASE!" Sherlock roared again, dashing out of the room. I wondered what it was like in his brain.

"There was none!" Lestrade went out of the room and I followed him. Sherlock was running down the stairs.

"They take the poison! They chew and swallow it themselves! Clear signs! Even you idiots couldn't miss it!" he said as he was running down the stairs.

"Thanks," Lestrade said. "And?"

"Murder," Sherlock said. "I don't know how, but it is. A serial killer. I love those, always something to look forward to." He grinned and dashed out.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Lestrade called.

"Her case! Did she eat it? No, someone was here, and they took the case. They drove her here, forgot the case in the car. Oh," he said. "Yes!" he clapped his hands, looking like a giddy boy at Christmas. "You have to wait for a mistake from these serial killers."

"We can't wait!" Lestrade bellowed.

"Find her family and friends. Find Rachel!" Sherlock yelled as he jumped out of sight.

"What mistake?" Lestrade yelled.

"PINK!" Sherlock jumped back and out so quickly.

Lestrade looked disgusted and went back into the room. Others filed in, and I was left in the hallway. Lestrade popped his head out.

"Get out of here, Dr. Watson. We don't need you." And he went back in.

Fury rose in me. "I don't need you." In that moment I wanted to kill him. How many times had I heard that? I knew she didn't love me; I was just revenge for her. But I just kept going back for more. Idiot, fool, stupid. How I hate myself! I turned my face into a corner. Count to five and twenty. Calm. Revenge will come later. "You are not human," the memory rose up. I could feel the angry tears rising up. I will not cry. "Multiply by two," I said to myself. It always worked. The threat of it. I blinked, hard, and a tear fell out. I brushed it away quickly. I did not want others to see the weakness. "Multiply by two," I said again and again to myself as I walked downstairs. I cried one tear that will be two for later. I took off the blue suit calmly, my face a mask. No one will know, I thought. But she knew, she always knew. I will pay for my weakness.

I walked out of the house. Two, two. It was raining. Good. But I realized I didn't know where the hell I was. I saw Donovan. "He's gone." She called.

"What?" I asked.

"Sherlock Holmes. He took off. He does that." She studied a clipboard.

"Alright." I said. "Sorry, but where am I?" I asked.

"Brigston," Donovan said. I nodded. My old apartment wasn't too far away. I needed something from it.

"Where could I get a cab? It's just… my leg." I tapped it with my cane. I saw the pity in Donovan's eyes. She lifted up the tape.

"Try the main road."

"Thank you," I said as I ducked under.

"You're not his friend, he doesn't have friends," Donovan said. I turned to look at her. There were water drops on my glasses.

"I don't care," I said. It was the truth. I didn't.

"So who are you?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Nobody. I just met him." I said. It was the truth. She made me nobody. I was nothing without her.

"Stay away from him, just a bit of advice." Donovan said.

"Why?" I wondered.

She looked at me. "You do know why he's here? He doesn't get paid; he does this all for free. He likes it. He gets off on it."

I didn't see what was wrong with people liking things, but I kept quiet. She went on.

"Weirder the crime, the better. One day it's not going to be enough. One day we will all be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one to put it there." She looked like she expected me to run away screaming and stay as far away from him as possible. But that wasn't going to happen. She didn't know that I didn't care for my life, not really.

"Why?"

"Because he is a psychopath." Donovan said.

"Thank you for the warning," I said politely. Did she expect me to fear for my life? I was way past that. Not that she would have known, of course. Donovan nodded. I turned away and went to the main road. There was a crick in my neck. I rolled my head around to try to dislodge it, and a fat drop of rain landed on my face. I wiped it off. Good thing it didn't land on my glasses. There was a ringing of a phone somewhere nearby, but I just wanted to get back to the flat. I made my way onto the main road.

I tried hailing a taxi. The ringing of a phone startled me. I located the sound. It was coming from a pay phone. There was a twist in my stomach. Something was wrong. Pay phones don't ring. A man reached to it, and it stopped. I couldn't see any taxis, so I decided to walk farther down the road. As I passed a phone booth, the phone started ringing. This was no coincidence. But, I was curious. I opened the door of the booth and picked up the phone. Was it her? No, it couldn't be.

"Hello?" I asked.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left, do you see it?" a voice said. I turned to my left. There was a camera, watching me. I inwardly rolled my eyes. England was possibly the most camera-ed nation in the world.

"Yes, I see it." I said. I smiled and waved. "I'm a movie star now?" I asked. I tossed my head.

"Watch."

The camera turned and spun around.

"There is another camera on the building opposite the first, do you see that?" the voice droned on. "And finally at the top of the building on your right."

"If you want an autograph you just needed to ask," I said.

"Humor will not help you Dr. Watson." The voice said. "Now, get into the car. I would make a threat, but it seems that is not needed at this time."

Just then a black posh limousine rolled up. A man opened the door. "Damn, I would have worn my nice dress if I had some warning," I snarled into the phone and slammed it down. That made me feel better.


	6. Chapter 6

**Please review. I do have some swearing in this chapter, but I still have it rated T because as a high school student and teen myself, I hear this kind of language all the time, and do not find it particularly offensive. But, if you find it offensive, my apologies.**

I limped out of the phone booth and into the limo. We sped away. London sped past at a dizzying rate. There was a woman next to me. She was texting. "What is your name?" I asked her.

"Cynthia," she didn't look up from her phone.

I could tell it wasn't her real name. "Is it a waste to ask where I'm going?" I asked.

"No, none at all." She still didn't look up from her phone, but she smiled.

We pulled up to an old warehouse building on the outskirts of London. The car drove inside the building, and I could see a man leaning on an umbrella. "Here," Cynthia said, not looking up from her phone.

I exited the car and went up to the man. "Have a seat, Hida," the man gestured with his umbrella to a flimsy looking chair. It looked uncomfortable.

"I have a phone. You seem to know my name, and maybe even my social security number. You could just call me. On my phone. Because that's what phones do. They call other phones," I said.

"One needs to be discreet when avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes." The man said.

"Discreet?" I asked. "Are you asking me to be your mistress? Oh sir, the offer is wonderful, but I'm married," I said. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and flashed him my 'wedding band.' She made me get it, to show that I was married to her and her alone, and of course I obeyed. But it did come in handy at times.

"Your leg must be paining you, please sit down." He smiled and gestured again to the chair.

"I really don't think this will take too long, so no thank you," I said.

"You don't seem afraid." The man mused.

"I've seen worse than you," I said.

The man chuckled. "Ah yes, the brave soldier. Bravery is a kind word for stupidity, is it not?"

I stared at him. I was very good at keeping my face a mask. I had years of practice.

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked.

"What connection? He pays half the rent. I get half a nice apartment."

"And you are also solving crimes together." The man said. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

I wiggled my wedding band at him. "What's it to you?"

"Simply interested." The man said.

"Well you don't seem like you are good friends or anything." I said.

"Hmm, no. you have met him. Does he seem like he has friends? No, I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes can have. An enemy."

"Is that right?" I asked.

"Yes, doctor Watson. If you were to ask, I'd probably be his archenemy." He seemed proud of the fact. "He does love drama."

"Well good thing you're above all that." I said with a flip of my head. The man stared at me. My phone blipped. I checked it. It was a text. _Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH._

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything." The man said in a voice that made it clear he hoped otherwise.

"Not at all," I said with a smile as I returned my phone to my pocket.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Mr. Holmes?" the man asked.

"Humans have free will. I can do almost whatever the hell I want!" I said gleefully.

"Well, if you do move into," he pulled out a notebook, "221B Baker Street, I would me more than willing to pay a sum to ease your way."

"No thank you." I declined. What the fuck? What was so goddamn special about Sherlock fucking Holmes? People would PAY ME to spy on him.

"Just some information. What he is doing, nothing uncomfortable." The man truly needed this information.

"Why? What makes him so special?" I demanded.

"I worry about him, constantly." He looked pained.

"That is a very nice archenemy if I ever see one. I hope mine is as kind as you are, good sir," I said.

"But I hope you will not tell him about this offer. We have a difficult relationship." He was twirling his umbrella around and looking at the tip.

"You can't skewer ants here." I said helpfully as my phone blipped again. I pulled it out. _If inconvenient, come anyway. SH._

_Don't get your thong up your butt._ I texted back.

"And the answer is still no," I said while texting.

"I haven't even mentioned a figure." The man smiled.

"You don't need to. I have everything I need." I said.

"You have become loyal so quickly." He mentioned.

"Did you never learn manners? When a lady says no, it means no." I said.

"Trust issues, it said here." The man pulled out his notebook. "Why trust Sherlock Holmes?"

"Who says I trust him?" I mused. And I didn't. There were seven people in the world I trusted wholly and completely, and Sherlock was not one of them.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," the man went on, flipping a page.

"I don't. Are you through?" I asked.

"You tell me."

I checked my phone. "Mmmm, well it's getting late; I just want to read my book and go to sleep after eating a nice dinner. So, if that is the definition of 'done,' I think we are." I turned away. He could have shot me in the back. I really didn't care.

"People have warned you, I assume? But from you left hand, that isn't going to happen, am I right?" the man asked.

I turned around. What the hell was with people today?

"Your left hand."

I stuck it out, my band glinting in the feeble light. He walked closer. He inspected my hand and turned away. "When most people see London, they see streets, shops, cars, but walking with Sherlock Holmes makes you see the battlefield. But you good doctor have seen it already. You have tremor in your left hand, and your therapist thinks it is stress from the war. But it is not shaking." He seemed pleased with himself. "You miss the war. Welcome back."

I internally rolled my eyes at this. One cannot miss something that was never left. I went up to his face.

"I don't have a therapist. And there is only one thing in this world that makes my hand shake, and it sure as hell wasn't Iraq." I said. I turned away. It was hard, when all I wanted to do was spin, dramatically, but my short green coat wasn't for that use. And I had to keep up my leg. My phone blipped again.

"Time to choose a side doctor Watson," the man said. I looked over my shoulder and he was walking away spinning his umbrella.

Cynthia came out of the car, walking and texting. "I'm to take you home." Poor woman, walking in those high heels while texting. I pulled out my phone. _Could be dangerous._ _SH._

_Yippee_. I texted back. I climbed into the car.


	7. Chapter 7

**As always, reviews would be much appreciated. And I do show a bit of what Hida is dealing with in her past. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for reading.**

"Address?" she asked me as I walked to the car.

"221B Baker street." I said. "But is it alright if I make a stop first?"

"Of course," she said.

I went to my old apartment, the one I had before I roomed with Sherlock. Wait… Before Sherlock… BS. I smiled to myself. Seemed correct. I thankfully had my old key in my pocket. I put my cane on the bed and shimmied underneath the bed. There was my loose floorboard. I pried it open, and hoped they were still there. They were. I pulled them out and examined them.

The book was a bit dusty, but otherwise fine. The creamy white pages were begging to be filled with sketches, but now was not the time. The brick red hard cover was plain, but I was not complaining. I reached under the floor again and pulled out the coat.

The coat seemed in fine condition, considering it was under the floor for two weeks. I shook off some dust and examined it again. It was black and hit my knees, my 'on duty' coat. It had to be black because that is what I wore when I went to see her. She would never take it any other way. I never questioned it. Black was what my brothers wore on duty too. But she was never as cruel to them as she was to me. Oh, mother, I thought as I leaned against the wall. Why did you turn me into this? I heaved a sigh and took my cane and left the room. Everything of mine was truly gone now. I wrapped the coat around the book and tucked the coat under my arm. I then walked out and reentered the car.

"Baker street, please," I said to the driver. After a short drive, we stopped at the apartment. Or flat. I could never keep them straight.

"Cynthia, that man at the building was your boss, right?" I asked.

"yes." She said.

"Who is his boss?" the thought had crossed my mind that maybe he worked for her.

"He works for himself." She said.

"And you already told him this is where I live, correct?" I asked.

"Correct."

I rolled my eyes and exited. I went up to the door and used the knocker. Mrs. Hudson answered. "Hida, dear, I will get you a key of your own first thing tomorrow morning."

I thanked her and went upstairs to my bedroom. My duffel bag was still on my bed unpacked. I sighed and added my coat and book to the pile. I then trudged downstairs to the kitchen and living room and opened the door to find Sherlock on the couch flexing his left hand.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Can't sustain a smoking habit in London these days." He said in a voice that could almost pass for sad while staring at the ceiling.

"Well if it floats your boat." I said. "Wait... is that three patches?"

"It's a three patch problem." He said still staring at the ceiling.

"Now why did you want me here again?" I said.

"Oh yes, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

How the hell. "You wanted be to drop everything I was doing and give you my phone?" I asked incredulously.

"You weren't doing anything important." He said.

"No, I wasn't. But that is not the point!" I wanted to take my cane and give him a tap on the head more than anything else.

"My number might be recognized, it's on the website," he said.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I asked.

"Tried shouting, she didn't hear."

This man was possibly one of those tortured genius types. Smart in a specialized area, but has no idea how to interact with other humans.

"Here," I pulled out my phone and put it in his outstretched hand. "I am assuming that this is about the case?"

"Ah yes, case, case, suitcase, yes obviously." he muttered. "The murderer took the suitcase, big mistake."

"So?" I wondered.

"We'll have to risk it." He said.

I wondered what he was like as a child. I felt a twinge of pity for his mother. Mother, no. NO. Think of something else…

"Risk what?" I asked.

"There is a number on my desk; I want you to send a text." He flipped his wrist and handed me my phone back. I shuffled over to the desk and stared out the window. What was truly out there? There were things I couldn't wrap my mind around. Bureaucracy, secrecy. Sounded like things out of a mystery book. Then again, my life was almost like a mystery book. I must have zoned out a while.

"Something wrong?" he said.

"I just met a friend of yours," I said.

"A FRIEND?" he seemed outraged.

"An enemy," I corrected softly.

"Oh, which one?" he seemed happier.

"According to him, your archenemy. Do people even have archenemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"yes." He probably knew which enemy. That was good, considering I never got a name.

"Did you take it?" he seemed curious.

"Nah. It's not really my thing, you know?" I said. "I just wasn't feeling it. He also made some reference to wanting to have an affair with me. Pity I couldn't take it up. He wasn't even handsome."

"Pity you dint take it. We could have split the fee. Give some more thought next time." he seemed genuine.

"Who the hell is he?"

"Most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem." Most dangerous man. Oh yes, that was fine. I could handle men. Women were scarier. "Now the number. On my desk."

I picked it up and dialed it. "Jennifer Wilson? Isn't that the dead woman?" I asked.

"Yes it is." He seemed tired. Or exasperated. "Just enter the number."

I did. "What do you want to say?"

"What happened at Lauriston gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street please come."

"You blacked out? When?" I wondered. Fainting could be a sign of heart disease.

"What? No! No!" he lunged out of the couch and stood. He stalked to one side of the room and back. I heard unzipping and saw that he had a suitcase a ghastly shade of pink.

"How did you get her case?" I asked. I remember him saying the murderer had the bag. I also remember Donovan's words. Maybe she was saying he would kill me. If that was the case, I really didn't care. I felt almost happy. Almost.

"Perhaps I should mention, no, I didn't kill her." He said with a tilt of his head.

"Never said you did." I responded.

"But it crossed your mind, given the text I just had you send, and the fact I am in possession of her case. It is a perfectly logical assumption." He said it like…

"Do people usually assume you are the killer?" I asked.

"Sometimes," He shrugged.

"Alright. Now how did you get this?" I said. I sat down in the chair I was occupying before Sherlock dragged me out to the murder.

"I looked." He heaved himself up so he was squatting on the chair instead of sitting on it.

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston gardens. Keeping her case was a mistake. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to them, especially a man, which is more likely if you look at statistics."

I really agreed with him. It looked like Barbie vomited on an unsuspecting helpless piece of luggage.

"Therefore he had to get rid of it the moment he realized he still had it. At most, it would have given him about five minutes to realize the stupidity. I checked every back street big enough for a car within five minutes of Lauriston gardens, and a way to dispose of a large object without being observed. Took me less than an hour." He said this mechanically, as if he was still thinking while reciting information. This man was different. Truly different.


	8. Chapter 8

**As always I would like to thank every person who reads this. I have tried to add more depth to Hida through her snark and her past. I hope that everyone enjoys. Danke! (thank you in German)**

"You guessed that it was pink?" I asked him.

"Obviously it had to be pink," he looked at me like it was stupid to think otherwise.

"Oh I wonder why I didn't think of that," I said sarcastically.

"Because you are an idiot." He said.

I shrugged. It was one of the perks of almost constant verbal abuse. I was used to it and it gave me no anger.

"Now look. Do you see what's missing?" he pointed to the case.

I really wasn't too fond of the idea of going through a dead woman's case, so I just said no.

"Her phone. Where is her mobile phone? It wasn't on the body, it isn't in the case. She had one, her number's right there. You just texted it."

"She left it at home?" I asked. Brits and their mobiles. "Mobile this and that." It was quite annoying at times. I always retaliated by calling it a cell. But then again, at that moment I was trying to come to terms that I had just texted a dead woman's phone. I sighed inwardly. Even my four brothers combined weren't this crazy or stupid.

"Absolutely not. A woman with a string of lovers leaves her phone at home? Idiocy." He looked at me like I was supposed to understand something. I kind of wanted to smack that look off his face. Just a little.

"And this is the part where you tell me why the hell I just texted a dead woman. But hey, at least I don't have to pay for our dinner date. Seeing she is dead an all." I said.

"The question is where her phone now. Is" he was doing a facial expression that I didn't like too much.

"She could have lost it," I said blandly.

"Yes or…"

"The killer has the phone. You think he took it?" I said. I hoped I got it right. I really wanted some food. I was hungry.

"Maybe she left it with her case and he took it from her for one reason or another. Either way the murderer probably has the phone." He said this calmly.

"So not only did I text a dead woman I also texted her murderer? Nice. I am so adding this to my resume." I said. At that moment my phone started ringing. The number was blocked.

"Hours after the last victim he gets a text that can only be from her. If a random person found this phone they would ignore the text, but the murderer, no. they panic." He flipped the lid on the case closed with a snap of the wrist and rose from his chair and grabbed a coat.

"Just wondering, but did you ever talk to the police?" I asked.

"Four people are dead. There is no time to talk to the police." He was fastening the buttons.

"They why are you talking to me?" only one person outside of my immediate family talked to me.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." He said. Great. I'm a stand in for a cranium. I cracked my back and felt a familiar twinge of pain. I rolled my neck and felt some relief. It was starting to cramp.

"So I'm a substitute for a skull?" I asked.

"Relax you are doing fine." He grabbed an overcoat and put that on too.

"Oh good. Because I hope my first time is so very memorable," I muttered.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" I wondered.

"You could just sit there… and watch telly," he said with a slight disgust. I snorted. Brits and their telly.

"You want me to come with you." I stated. It was strange.

"I like company when I go out. Skull attracts attention, and I do like to talk out loud." He was finishing buttoning his coat. "Problem?" he said as he was tying a scarf around his neck.

I twitched my lips. "Donovan said that you are a psychopath that gets off on this."

He smirked back. "I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." With that he swept out of the room. That gave questions.

Was I an adrenaline junkie? Why was I doing this? What would she say? "Damn it." I said as I lurched up, remembered to grab my cane, and went out.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we jaywalked across a slightly busy road. British people were so understanding of jaywalkers. Nobody tried to run us over, nor did they blare their horns at us.

"Northumberland street is five minutes from here." He said.

"You think he is stupid enough to go back there?" I wondered.

"No, he is brilliant. I love the brilliant ones. Those are the ones who are so desperate to get caught. They get the applause, the appreciation, the spotlight. Genius always needs an audience." He said.

I pondered if I was his audience for the time being. Sherlock spun around. "This is his hunting ground. He always strikes right here in the heart of the city. The fact that the victims were abducted changes everything. They all disappeared from crowded streets and busy areas. But nobody saw them go. THINK!" he said with a sudden force.

"Who do we trust that we don't know? Someone who passes unnoticed where ever they go? Hunters in the middle of a crowd?"

"I dunno, who?" I asked. It was hard to keep even a few steps behind him.

"Haven't the faintest." He said. "Hungry?" he veered off and jaywalked again. This time he led me straight to a small restaurant that said "Angelo's." he banged open the door and a boy waved Sherlock to a window seat. "Thank you Billy," Sherlock said as he sat down. I followed suit. I was glad I kept my wallet on me. I was hungry.

"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Ah that was the reason. This restaurant overlooked a busy street where the murder had taken place.

"Is he going to ring the doorbell? He isn't crazy," I said.

"Hida, he killed four people." Sherlock said gazing out of the window intently.

A large man walked up behind Sherlock and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sherlock," he said affectionately. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house for you, and your date," he said as he waved a menu to me.

I rolled my eyes quickly so the man couldn't see. Did he really assume I was Sherlock's date? As if.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked me.

"Hell yes I'm starving," I said as I took the menu.

"This man got me off a murder charge," the man told me as he pointed to Sherlock.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock interrupted. "Three years ago I helped him prove that at the time of a vicious triple murder Angelo was in a different part of town carjacking."

I raised my eyebrows a bit and readjusted my glasses so I could read better.

"He cleared my name! I would have gotten sent to jail!" Angelo exclaimed.

"You did go to jail," Sherlock said blandly. "Anything happening opposite?"

"nothing." Angelo said. He then turned back to me. "But for this man, my name would be tainted," he said in a somber voice.

"It is tainted," Sherlock said.

"I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic." Angelo hurried off.

I twitched my lips. Sherlock turned and stared out the window. I set the menu on the table and stuffed my hands in my pockets because of the cold. I could feel the cold metal of my wedding band in my left pocket from when I took it off and I toyed with it a bit.

"You know, very few people have true archenemies," I said.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked.

"You heard me the first time." I knew this much about him already. "It's very rare."

"Then what do people have? It sounds dull. " Sherlock said.

I paused. "Friends, people they dislike, people they like, people they know. Girlfriends, boyfriends." I thought of my little brother Daichi who always seemed to be in one disastrous relationship after another.

"Dull, boring," Sherlock said as he stared out the window. My pasta arrived and I thanked Angelo with a smile.

"You don't have a girlfriend then?" I asked curiously. I had an almost sixth sense that could feel if a man was gay, and I really wasn't getting a feel off of Sherlock.

"No, not really my area." He said.

Oh no, was I wrong? "Boyfriend?" I asked. I really hoped not. It would kill my streak.

"No," he said scrutinizing me. He looked as if he were glaring a little.

"Alright," I said. "Good." I wasn't wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

**I cannot stress enough that I need and would like reviews. And a thank you goes to all who favorited/followed this story. It means so much to me! Thank you!**

At that moment Angelo brought me my pasta. I started eating right away. It was amazing. Sherlock was still looking out the window, silent. There was a lot of pasta, but I was pretty sure that I could eat it all. Growing up with four brothers gave a person some appetite.

"Hida, um." Sherlock said. I glanced up, chewing. "I consider myself married to my work and though I'm flattered by your interest..."

I held up my hand and finished chewing. I also slipped the now warm ring onto my finger and placed my hand on the table. "I'm married to my work too. And I was just curious. I don't have the power to see everything about a person with a glance, so I had to use the way of the mortals- asking questions."

Sherlock studied my hand. He glanced back up to me. "Alright. Good."

After about two more minutes of me stuffing my face, Sherlock nodded to the window. "Look across the street. Taxi."

I glanced over my shoulder. "Stopped with nobody getting in or out." Sherlock said. "Oh taxi. Clever. Wait. Is it clever? Why is it clever? And don't stare," he snapped to me.

"You're staring." I said.

"We can't both stare." He said as he grabbed is coat and left the restaurant. I did not follow. He gave no indication that he wanted me too, and I feared I was getting too far into this already. My phone blipped. It was a text. _All birds need to fly_. It said. _YW._ Permission? I hoped so. I got my coat on too. I thought of my cane and dismissed it. It was tiring anyway. Better forgotten. I left the restaurant just as I saw Sherlock jump over the hood of a car. I jogged around it. Sherlock had stopped in the street. "I've got the number," I said.

"Good for you," Sherlock replied.

He held his hands up to his head and started talking really fast about traffic lights. With that he ran off into a building. He shoved a man out of the way, and I called an apology as I followed Sherlock up flights of stairs. It was so freeing to be able to run. "Come on, Hida," he called above me as we raced up a spiral staircase. We made it to the top of a building where the air was cold and crisp. There was a short staircase down and Sherlock jumped the railing onto the roof of a building below. Sherlock ran over it and jumped. I saw what he had jumped over and stopped. It wasn't far, but I could see the street below. A small wave of nausea washed over me.

"Come on, Hida! We're losing him!" Sherlock called.

I put my right hand over my eyes, ears, and mouth as a last prayer and jumped. It worked. There were more stairs and I hurriedly climbed down them. Sherlock then jumped down onto the street and ran down an alley way. I felt at home running. My legs pumping, my heart beating fast. I wasn't even tired yet. As we exited the alley way the taxi had just pulled past. "This way!" Sherlock said as I swerved to the right and ran. I realized he was no longer in front of me. "No, this way!" he said from behind me. I turned around and ran back.

There seemed to be miles of pavement and alleyways and then suddenly Sherlock had slammed into the hood of the taxi. "Police!" he said as he opened the door. I was behind him. There was a man in there who looked very surprised.

"No," Sherlock said. "He's tan, orange even. California, LA, Santa Monica? Just arrived. The luggage. First time in London, assuming your destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

"Sorry, are you guys the police?" the man asked in an American accent. It was nice to hear after a slew of British ones.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, holding up a packet of papers. "Everything alright?" he asked the man.

"Yeah," the man said with a puzzled expression.

"Welcome to London," Sherlock said. With that he walked off, leaving the door open.

"Sorry about that. Hope your stay is enjoyable," I said with a smile to the man.

Sherlock was standing a little way off in the street.

"It was a cab that happened to slow down," I said as I walked up to him. I wasn't even breathing hard. "Not the murderer."

"Not the murderer, no." Sherlock snapped.

"Wrong country, good alibi." I said. I saw Sherlock transfer the papers from his right hand to his left. "Where did you even get these? Detective inspector Lestrade?"

"Yes, I pickpocket him when he is annoying." Sherlock seemed pleased with his handiwork. "Keep it; I've got plenty at the flat."

"Welcome to London," I told myself. I looked down the street and the man in the taxi was talking to a real policeman and pointing at us.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked.

"Never lost it." I said. With that we ran down the street. He hailed a cab and gave the address of the apartment. In thirty minutes I stepped through the door of 221b. my phone blipped again as I entered the building. _You will pay your debts. YW._

"That was ridiculous," I said as I hung up my coat. "That wasn't the most ridiculous thing I've ever done, but it was close." I leaned against my wall and pulled off my shoes.

"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock said.

I snorted. And Sherlock chuckled. "Why did we even go the restaurant?" I asked as I stared at the ceiling.

"Figured to keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." Sherlock waved his hand.

"So why bother? But on the other hand, that pasta was good." I asked.

"Passing the time and proving a point." Sherlock said.

"What point?" I wondered.

"Mrs. Hudson doctor Watson will take the room upstairs," Sherlock called.

"Of course I will," I said, confused.

There was a knocking at the door. It was Angelo. "Sherlock texted me. He said you forgot this," and he held out my cane.

"You also forgot this," Angelo said and he held out a Styrofoam box. I opened it and saw my leftover pasta.

"Thank you!" I said. "It was delicious."

Angelo seemed pleased and walked down the stairs onto the street. I went into the building and closed the door. Sherlock was grinning. Mrs. Hudson walked out of her room, a stricken look on her face.

"Sherlock what have you done?" she asked.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he asked.

"Upstairs," she said.

He bounded up the stairs and I followed. He flung open the door and stalked in. The detective inspector was sitting in the chair as people were searching the room.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock snarled.

"I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid," he said.

"You can't break into my flat!" Sherlock said.

"You can't withhold evidence! And I'm not breaking in!" Lestrade said.

"What is this, then?" Sherlock gestured wildly to the people. I glanced behind me and saw the kitchen had four people opening cabinets and whatnot.

"It's a drugs bust!" Lestrade said.

"Shit!" I yelled. "Sherlock! Keep them off my back for two minutes! I need to hide my weed!" with that I ran up the stairs and into my room. I put my cane and pasta on my bed. How could the pile on my bed have grown so much so quickly? You will pay your debts. Yes, I will. I reached into the jacket and pulled out my pocketknife. Multiply by two, one tear, two cuts. I rolled up my sleeve and made two small shallow cuts in my arm. Weakness is not appreciated. I rolled my sleeve down again and went down the stairs again.

Sherlock was fuming at Lestrade. I walked in saying, "now all the weed is cleared up, you can go. This guy doesn't do drugs." Sherlock shot me a look and I shrugged.

"I'm not your sniffer dog!" he said.

"No, Anderson is my sniffer dog." I glanced behind me and saw Anderson from the murder pop his head out.

"Anderson what are you doing on a drugs bust?!" Sherlock yelled.

"Oh I volunteered," Anderson replied with malice.

"As tribute?" I asked him. He looked at me weird, so I decided to stop talking.

"They all did. They aren't on the drugs squad, but they are keen." Lestrade said.

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan said with disgust.

"Put those back!" Sherlock gestured angrily.

"They were in the microwave!" she said.

"It's an experiment." Sherlock said.

"Keep looking, guys," Lestrade called from the couch.

"This is childish!" Sherlock snarled as he tried to wear a hole in the rug.


	10. Chapter 10

**Two chapters in one day! This is what I do when I have no life. (which is always.) Thank you for reading, and I just want to let everyone know that I have resorted to openly beg for reviews. So, please please please review! Thank you!**

"I'm dealing with a child," Lestrade said, exasperated. "Sherlock, this is our case, I'm letting you in, true, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"Are you telling me you set up a fake bust to bully me?" Sherlock said furiously.

"It's not pretend if something is found." Lestrade said.

"I AM CLEAN!" Sherlock shouted.

"And is your flat? All of it?" Anderson asked. I could tell he loved every moment of this.

Sherlock rolled up his sleeve to show a nicotine patch. Lestrade did the same.

"We found Rachel," Lestrade said as he pulled his sleeve down.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Lestrade said.

"Why would she write her daughter?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

"Never mind that, we found the case! And you said the murderer had it! And we found it in the hands of our one and only psychopath!" Anderson said gleefully. He was really getting on my nerves.

"I'm not a psychopath; I'm a high functioning sociopath, Anderson." Sherlock said with venom. "Bring in Rachel, question her. I need to question her."

"She is dead," Lestrade said.

"Wonderful. How, why, when?" Sherlock said in a rapid stream.

"Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter. She was born 14 years ago." Lestrade said.

"That's not right. Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock looked around.

"Yes, why would she think of her daughter in her last moments, yeah, sociopath right there." Anderson said with a smirk.

"You know Anderson, if I wanted your opinion, I would give it to you," I said with my winning smile. He looked at me, shocked. "Yes, yes, it can talk!" I said.

Sherlock turned to Anderson. "She didn't think about her daughter, she scratched her name into the floor with her fingernails as she was dying. It took effort and pain."

"You said that they take the poison themselves, but he makes them take it," I said. "Maybe he knew about her daughter and talked to her about it."

"That was ages ago, why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked. I was floored.

"Did you know that when I was younger my mom miscarried her last child? It was a boy and she had the name picked out and everything. And every year on that date she cries for him? He would have been 19. And it still hurts her. So it makes sense that Jennifer would still be hurting after 14." I said coldly.

Sherlock and Lestrade were looking at me. "Not good?" Sherlock asked me quietly.

"Very not good." I said.

Sherlock stepped up in my face. "But if you were dying, in your last few seconds, what would you say?"

I thought about it and shrugged. "I don't know." That was an understatement. I would probably be elated. But that would be a mentally unstable thing to say.

"Oh come on. Think!" he ordered me.

"I did." I said.

"But if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer was, running all those lovers. She is trying to tell us something!" he paced back and forth.

Mrs. Hudson tiptoed in the room. "Isn't the doorbell working Sherlock? Your taxi's here!"

"I didn't order a taxi! Go away!" he waved her off rudely and continued pacing.

"Oh dear they're making such a mess of things!" she looked around the room helplessly. "What is so important?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," I said quietly.

She looked scared. "But I've just got my hip! The herbs help me!"

"SHUT UP! EVERYBODY! DON'T MOVE, DON'T BREATH, DON'T SPEAK!" Sherlock roared suddenly. He was flailing his hands around. "Anderson, face the other way," he said.

"What? My face is?" Anderson looked disgusted.

"Yes, it is," I said. I just couldn't resist. "Now face the other way or I'll make you."

Lestrade looked intent on something. "Everyone quiet and still, Anderson turn your back."

"What?" Anderson seemed outraged.

"Your back, now!" Lestrade yelled. Anderson turned around.

"Sherlock what about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock roared. She gave a frightened squeak and rushed out.

Sherlock abruptly stopped pacing. "Oh," he said softly. "She was clever, clever, clever. She is smarter than you lot and she's dead! She planted her phone on him! She knew she was going to die when she left that car. She left the phone on him in order to lead us to him."

Detective Lestrade asked a simple question. "How?"

Sherlock looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean how?"

Lestrade looked at Sherlock expectantly. I could tell that he was used to this kind of stuff.

"Rachel!" Sherlock said. Everyone looked at him strange. "Rachel!" he said again, trying to help us understand. We didn't.

Sherlock started laughing. It was slightly maniacal and worrying. "You lot are all so vacant. Is it nice to not be me? It must be so relaxing." He sobered up immediately. "Rachel is not a name. Hida, on the luggage there is an email address."

I walked over to the case and grabbed hold of the label. Sure enough there was an email. "Jenny dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk." I read out. Sherlock sat himself at the desk and flipped open his laptop.

"She didn't have a laptop; business was done on her phone. The email is her username, and the password-Rachel." Sherlock said as he typed quickly.

"So we can read her emails, so what?" Anderson said from the kitchen.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the street. We can do much more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it has GPS. If it's lost, you can find it online. She planted it on the killer, and it will lead us right to him, wherever he is."

There was a little clock on the page turning its hands.

"What if he got rid of it?" Lestrade asked.

I turned to him. "He didn't. I texted him a few hours ago."

"What?" Lestrade looked shocked.

"Freaked me out just as much, bro," I said sympathetically.

"Sherlock this taxi driver," Mrs. Hudson said as she ran into the room.

"Mrs. Hudson is you sure it is time for your evening soother?" he said to her icily. "We have to move fast the phone battery won't last forever." Sherlock told Lestrade. I looked at the map. It was zooming in. The floor fell out under my feet.

"Sherlock?" I asked. It seemed like my voice was coming from far away. Sherlock ignored me and kept talking to Lestrade. "Sherlock?" I said again. My voice sounded normal, no longer far away.

"Where is it? Where?" he looked over my shoulder.

"It's here, 221 Baker Street." I said.

"How? It wasn't in the case, how could it be here?" Sherlock asked.

"Did it fall out when you looked through the case?" Lestrade said.

"How could I have not noticed that?" Sherlock asked. He became very still and was staring at the wall. I could tell that his mind was working at the speed of light. I kept my eyes on the dot on the screen. It wasn't moving. After a few minutes had passed Sherlock pulled out his phone. He stared at it.

"Sherlock are you alright?" I asked. It seemed to startle him.

"Yeah- yeah I'm fine." He said it slightly slurred.

"So how can the phone be here?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said vacantly. Something was wrong, I could tell.


	11. Chapter 11

**as I am nearing the end of the story, please may I have reviews? I am planning to develop Hida a bit more, so I hope you all enjoy. Happy reading!**

'I'll try again," I said. There was no way the phone could be here. There must have been a mistake. I refreshed the page and saw the clock's hands move around again.

"Good idea," Sherlock said vacantly as he walked out. My stomach twisted. Wrong, wrong, my intuition chanted.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Fresh air, be back in a bit." He took his jacket, so I knew he wasn't too out of it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I called down the stairs.

"I'm fine!" he called as he suddenly put on a burst of speed down the stairs.

I turned to look out the window. There was a taxi waiting, and an old man was leaning against it. Lestrade and his men were still shuffling around, but it was white noise to me. The taxi driver said something, I couldn't tell what. I kept looking and adjusted my glasses. I saw Sherlock walk to the car. His lips were moving, forming words I couldn't hear. The taxi driver heaved himself up and walked to the driver's side. Sherlock said something to him, and the man turned around and said something back. Then he went and sat in the car. Sherlock glanced up and I shrank back.

Then I saw him go the passenger side and say something to the cabbie. He suddenly straightened up. He got in the car.

"He got in the cab." I announced. "Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab." I said. How the hell? I was raging on the inside. What did he think he was doing?

"I told you, he does that. He just left again," Donovan said with a massive eye roll to Lestrade. "We're wasting our time!" she announced to the people in the kitchen.

I called the phone of Jennifer Wilson. Lestrade was looking at me. "I'm calling the phone, its ringing." I told him.

"If it's ringing, it's not here." Lestrade said disgustedly.

Donovan stomped out of the kitchen. "Does it matter? He is just a lunatic, he will always let you down, and he will never change. You are wasting all of our time." she stomped back into the kitchen and started packing things up. I was relieved, they were making me nervous.

Lestrade paused and looked like he was thinking things over. "Alright everybody, we're done here." He said with a sigh. Then he turned back to me. "Why did he have to leave? Why?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "You're the better person to ask. I've known him less than two days."

"I've known him for five years and I still don't know him," Lestrade said quietly as he put on his coat.

"So why bother?" I asked. I was a horrible person that way. I always gave up on people so easily.

"I'm desperate." He sighed. On the way out he paused. "Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And one day, he has the chance to be a good one." With that he left the apartment with all of the others. I pondered that for a while. After they were all out I breathed a sigh of relief.

About ten minutes after they left I was drinking a glass of water, staring at the skull. There was suddenly a beep from the laptop. Three minutes my ass. I looked at the screen. It was not here anymore. It all clicked suddenly. Sherlock was with the phone. That much I knew. And the phone was not with him, so…. The cabbie. It made sense. Invisible cars and people. They were everywhere in London. I ran up the stairs and grabbed my jacket. Then I stopped. Was this even worth it? I texted her. _May I?_ HW. I asked. I waited.

_Yes, you may. But we will speak tomorrow. The package will be delivered in the morning. Be safe._ YW.

Thank heavens. I checked to make sure I had my gun. She always knew what was best. I then grabbed the laptop and hurried out. The dot had not moved. I hailed a cab. Smart? Probably not. But I had to go. "Rolincar Further Education College." I said. It seemed to take forever. I flipped open the laptop and kept an eye on the dot. The entire time it did not move. I finally arrived. "Thank you," I said as I paid the man. Then I turned around. Shit.

There were two buildings, each looking identical to the other. The cab was parked in the middle. I tucked the laptop into the small pocket on the inside of my coat and zipped up. It was freezing. I chose the left building, probably because I leaned democratic. It was as good a choice as any. I then realized I didn't know what I was even going to do when I saw them. Shoot the cabbie or Sherlock? It was a hard choice.

The door to the building was open. I jogged down one identical hallway after another. "Sherlock?" I asked the building. It didn't answer. Stupid buildings. They never helped at all, even when asked politely. Some doors were locked in the hallway. I climbed up a flight of stairs. There was a window. It was looking out the back. I couldn't see the other building. I continued up the flight.

The second floor looked different. There were more windows. I could see the other building. Shit. What if I was in the wrong building? Damn it! I looked out one window on one side of the library, but I didn't see anything. Was he in here? I closed my eyes and listened. Nothing. I opened my eyes and walked down the library some more. I checked every few windows. Still nothing. I went up one more flight. Didn't see any windows. I knew my way out. No need to panic. I ran down the hallway a bit more.

There! Windows. I checked and didn't see anything. I tried a door and it was unlocked. I burst into the room and saw him. He was in the other building. The taxi man was there, and saying something. He smiled and put his hand up. It was a pill. The poison. Sherlock put up his hand to the light too. He had a pill. Damn it! Could he not… wait, shit he was? I eased open the window. I knew what I had to do. The cabbie had his back to me. I pulled out my gun and clicked the safety off. I steeled myself. I could kill this man. He was a murderer. Killing him would be right. But needless killing was horrible. I waited. Sherlock had the pill in his and was bringing it to his mouth. It was almost there. Time slowed down. I waited patiently.

I saw the back of the cabbie. And for an instant he changed. His hair was no longer while and looking as if it as cut with a weed whacker, but auburn and coiled into a bun at the base of the neck. It was me. And in that instant I pulled the trigger and put the bullet in my heart. Then I saw Sherlock's look of surprise and dropped to the floor. Once out of his range of vision, I flew down the stairs and out the building. My gun was in my pocket. I pulled out my iPod and stuffed my earphones in. I walked down the street at a leisurely stroll. There was no need for people to know I had just killed someone. After five minutes, I saw police cars turn to the college and after a few more minutes I followed them.

"What's going on?" I asked Donovan curiously.

She explained about the pills and the fake gun the cabbie used to threaten the people with. I cringed in all of the right places. I saw Sherlock in the back of an ambulance. He was wrapped up in an orange shock blanket. He looked disgusted. Lestrade walked up to him. I kept my distance and pulled out my phone to look like I was doing something, and glanced up every now and then.

"Why do they keep putting the blanket on me?" Sherlock asked.

"It's for shock." Lestrade said patiently.

"I'm not in shock!" Sherlock protested.

"The guys need to take pictures of the crime," Lestrade said. I saw that it was a way to keep Sherlock out.

"So the shooter, no sign?" Sherlock asked. Damn it! As if I needed him after me!

"Cleared off before we got here." Lestrade said. "But a guy like that had enemies; I suppose one could have been following him. We've got nothing to go on." He seemed sad. Damn right they had nothing to go on.

Sherlock shook his head with a smile. "Oh I wouldn't say that." he smirked at Lestrade.

Lestrade seemed resigned to his fate. "Alright. Spill."

Sherlock rose and started going on about a bullet from a handgun. He got that part right, I conceded. Sherlock continued. "That's a good shot you're looking for. Not just a marksman, but a fighter. Clean shot from that distance meant his hands count have shaken a centimeter. Used to violence. But he has strong morals, because he didn't fire until I was in immediate danger. You, detective, are looking for a man with a history of military service, nerves of steel…" Sherlock trailed off. I raised my eyes and caught his gaze. I willed him to shut up.

"You know what? Ignore me. Ignore everything I just said. It's the shock. Look I've got a blanket!" Sherlock waved the blanket in Lestrade's face.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade asked angrily.

Sherlock pointed to me. "I've got to talk about the rent! I just caught you a serial killer, more or less."

Lestrade looked like he was either going to throw up or punch Sherlock. "alright." He said tightly. Sherlock walked briskly to me and threw the blanket in an open window of a police car.

"Donovan just explained about the two pills, nasty stuff." I said with a frown.

"Good shot," Sherlock whispered.

"Of course it was! Through the window and everything." I said happily.

"Get the powder out of your fingers. I don't think you'd serve time for this, but how about we just skip the court case?" Sherlock asked. He then looked at me. "Are you alright?"

"What? Yes I'm fine. Why?" I asked.

"You did just kill a man." Sherlock said.

No, I killed myself, I thought. "Well yes." I said. "But he didn't seem to nice, did he?" I asked.

Sherlock contemplated it. "No, he didn't."

"And on top of that, a rude cabbie. Killing passengers is impolite." I said.

Sherlock chuckled. "He was a bad cabbie. Did you see the way he drove here?"

I snorted. "You can't laugh at a murder scene. That's impolite too." I said.


	12. Chapter 12

**This is the last chapter in A Study In Pink. I will write another short story for Hida when she gets the package. I hope you enjoy this story, and as it is the last chapter, please review and tell me what you thought. Thank you!**

Sherlock walked out of the scene, ducking under the tape. "You were going to take it, weren't you?" I asked while following him. I knew the answer already, but I wanted to see if he did.

"Absolutely not! I was just… biding my time." Sherlock lied. "I knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't. You just like putting yourself in danger to prove a point. Probably to say that you are better than everyone else." I said.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked.

"You're an idiot." I said, turning his words against him. He paused and turned to me, mystified. "What? It's true!" I said. He smiled.

"Dinner?" he asked. I realized that I never actually finished my pasta.

"Hell yes I'm starving." I said.

Sherlock started going on about a Chinese restaurant that stays open until two, when the man from the warehouse got out of a car. "Hey hot stuff," I grinned and wiggled my fingers at him. He saw me and looked furious, but quickly masked his expression.

Sherlock turned to me. "It's him." I told him. I turned back to the man with a leer.

"I know exactly who that is." Sherlock said and made his way to the man.

"Another case solved! How kind of you, but that really isn't your motivation, is it now?" the man said to Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock said calmly.

"I am concerned about you." The man said stiffly.

"Oh I've heard about your concern." Sherlock said with a glance to me. The man looked at me like I was a slug. But hey, I had to admit I would make a sexy, sexy slug.

"Did you ever think we could be on the same side?" the man asked Sherlock.

"No," Sherlock said shortly.

"But we have so much in common." The man said. "A petty feud is childish. People will suffer. You know how it always upset mummy."

Holy hell. They were brothers.

"I upset her? I never upset her, Mycroft!" Sherlock said. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it," said Mycroft with a smile.

"Mummy?" I asked.

"Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes, my brother." Sherlock said it like he was going to be sick. Mycroft nodded at me with a look on his face I couldn't figure out.

"Mummy!" I said, shaking my head.

"He is the British government when he isn't too busy being the British secret service or the CIA. Don't start a war between now and when I get home. It ruins the traffic." Sherlock said with distain as he walked away.

I turned back at Mycroft. "When you say you worry about him, you really do?" I asked. "And it really is a childhood feud?"

Mycroft nodded. "He was always resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners." He said sadly.

I shook my head. "I really can't. I'm atheist. Mummy! Fucking Brits!" I threw up my hands and walked away. Sherlock was waiting. "The food will have to wait. I have to put Fernando to bed." I told him.

"Fernando?" Sherlock asked.

"My gun. And thank you for doing that back there." I said.

"Doing what?"

"Calling me a man. You said, 'his hands didn't shake'." I explained.

"sorry." Sherlock said.

"No really. It was great. Showed the idiocy of you people. Always assuming men still run the world. Women can be just as, if not more vicious than men." I said.

"But you were shot, were you not?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yeah. Stomach." I said.

"I thought so." He said.

"No you didn't." I said.

"Yes I did." He said grinning.

"What's wrong? Why are you smiling?" I said worriedly.

"Moriarty." He said.

"What's that?"

"No idea."

"Oh I forgot to give you this." I said, pulling out the laptop from my jacket.

"Thank you." He said, tucking it inside his.

We caught a cab back to Baker Street, where I put Fernando in his case and washed my hands thoroughly. Sherlock put the laptop away and we exited for Chinese food. As we were crossing the street, my phone buzzed. I flipped it open and was about to walk across the street when I read it. _Stay where you are_. I stopped. There was another text. _Now look across the street. J_ I looked and searched the people across the street. Then I saw it. My stupid idiot best friend Henry Watanabe, grinning at me and waving like a maniac. I waved back, smiling naturally for the first time in days. I always smiled happily around him. Henry was British, and made fun of my accent constantly, although I did the same back to him. It was only fair.

He was my only friend in the world, and I was his. We met in school when we were placed into the line alphabetically by last name. We then realized we had the same initials, and have been friends ever since. He was gay, and I was the only person to accept him for it. His parents kicked him out and left him to fend for himself. He loved me like a sister, and to me, he was my fifth brother. I could be myself around him. He was my dancing partner, and he was currently a dancer in the London ballet. _Best song ever?_ He asked me.

Right now? I mouthed, pointing to the ground.

He nodded vigorously. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded back. "You can go if you want." I told Sherlock as I fished out my iPod. He looked at me strangely and walked down the street.

On three! I mouthed, holding up three fingers. He fished out his iPod and nodded. I counted down and pressed play.

Dressed in your Friday best and ready to impress, whoa-oh. the music floated through my headphones and I started sign language the words to Henry. He mirrored my actions with a grin. People were stopping and staring at us, but I didn't care. After we ended the song he ran across the street and tackled me with a hug.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in forever! Oh I have so much to tell!" he said happily. I linked my arm in his and we started down the street. It turned out that he was opening up a dance studio.

"I saw that! I was thinking of trying out for a piano player or something." I said happily.

"You got the job!" Henry told me sincerely.

"Already?" I asked.

"Of course!" he said. "So what about you? What are you doing in London?"

"Well I just got a roommate, and was hoping to get back on my feet." I said.

"Why didn't you stay with me?" he asked. "You know I would have helped you."

"I can't rely on others all the time," I said. "Besides, we can't live together. I would drive you crazy." I said laughing.

We stopped outside the studio. "Come inside," henry said, unlocking the door and tugging me inside. I followed him, and stepped inside the studio. He flicked lights on and I was amazed. There were rooms with mirrors from floor to ceiling on one side, and a bar across all four walls. It was perfect.

"Oh Henry, I'm so happy for you!" I said, hugging him. "Look how far you've come!" he looked around the studio like he had a hard time letting it sink in too. That night, I gave him my new address and promised to visit him. I told him about Iraq and being shot and about Sherlock. I told him about city of bones and why he should read it.

He told me about how he just broke up with his boyfriend of two years, and how he expected me to dance with him in the coming week. I was truly happy for the first time in months. I went back to 221b and went up to my room. I stuffed my bag under my bed and got changed for bed. I turned off my phone and then I saw it. The text from earlier.

_Yes, you may. But we will speak tomorrow. The package will be delivered in the morning. Be safe._ YW

I took a deep breath and calmed down. It was tomorrow. I could wait. I fell asleep and did not dream.


End file.
